Live to eat another day
by darkheart510
Summary: The nations have learned that one of Arthur's recipes is the next Weapon of Mass Destruction, and are determined to get it. Now Alfred and Matthew must protect the cookbook for the sake of entire world. Not AU.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. None of the characters are accurate or real representations of the actual nation and its citizen. None of the events are representative of current or historical events. phew. anything else I gotta mention?

Beta'd by my sweetie, aoi_aka

* * *

"_Kzzzt _The Eagle has landed. _Kzzzt _Do you copy _Kzzzzzzt _Maple? Over."

Matthew looked up from the magazine he was flipping through. The voice had come from somewhere inside his clothing. Confused, he looked into the inner pocket of his jacket and found a walkie-talkie. "What? What in the wor—"

"_Kzzzt _ Maple, do you copy? _Kzzzhrt _Over._" _

Matthew clicked the button and spoke hesitantly into the mouthpiece. "Alfred? What are you doing? Over."

"_Kzzzhrt_ HEY, HEY USE MY CODENAME. _Kzzzt _Over."

"Er, what are you up to, Eagle? Over."

"I'm climbing the rose _kzzrt_ trellis into the Caterpillar's _kzzzhrtzt _study. Over"

"Why are you sneaking into Arthur's study? Over."

"_Kzt_ Top secret mission, _kzzzrt_ I'll tell you when I get out. _Kzt_ Over.

"So why do I have a walkie-talkie and when did you hide it in my jacket? Over"

"Blindfold the _kzzt_ Caterpillar while I _kzzt kzzt _steal his knickers. Over"

"What?!"

"Distract Arthur while I ransack his study, jeez. Over. _kzzt_"

"WHAT? Why are you doing this, Alfred?" Matthew ran his fingers through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh.

"…_Kzzzt_"

Matthew blinked, "I mean, what is the reason for your mission, Eagle? Over."

"_KZzzzZZt Khhhrrzzzzt _Too much _Kzzzt _static. Can't _Kzzzt _talk. I'm depending on you. Over."

"I know you've been making the static noises, Alfred."

"_KZZZHHHRHRTHHHZZZHTHSSSSSZZZT—" _ Matthew heard Alfred take a deep breath and then, "_"_

"Okay, okay, stop with the static. Hey, are you listening? Hey, you—look really nice in that sweater." That last part was directed at Arthur who had just walked into the room carrying a small paper bag. Matthew shoved the walkie-talkie back into his jacket and stood up nervously.

"Does it? I knitted it earlier this week. I'll make one for you if you want." Arthur smiled fondly at his former colony. "Here's the jam I promised you. It goes really well with the scones I gave you the other day at the meeting."

Matthew staggered under the weight of the paper bag as he took it from Arthur's hands. "Ah, thanks. How much did you make?" He said as he struggled to maintain his balance.

"Just a small jar. Not too much since I know you won't be able to eat too much by yourself," said Arthur as he settled into the couch. "Sit and we'll chat a bit. I'm glad you decided to come, we haven't talked in a while."

"Yeah, I thought it'd be nice to visit." Matthew placed the package carefully on the coffee table with an ominous thunk. A hairline crack appeared on the wood.

A loud thud rattled the light fixtures above their heads followed by the sound of a crash.

"Bloody hell was that?" Arthur stood up and turned towards the stairs.

Matthew grabbed his wrist frantically, "AH! Big rats! I have these huge rats in my house that get into everything. They're like moose, eh? Can't get rid of them! Sit and let's have tea. Ahaha."

"In a bit. I'm going to check on that noise." Pulling a fire poker from the stand by the fireplace, Arthur climbed the stairs.

As soon as Arthur was out of earshot, Matthew yanked the walkie-talkie from his jacket and yelled, "Abort! Abort! Maple to Eagle! Abort! Caterpillar approaches! Over!" Releasing the button, he listened anxiously for a reply, which he got moments later, but not from the walkie-talkie.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU GIT?!" Matthew winced as he heard another loud crash.

Alfred's pleas floated down to the living room, "Wait, wait, Iggy, I can explain. Stop swinging that poker. Hold on, Arthur."

Running footsteps sounded above Matthew's head and seconds later, Alfred came charging down the stairs, three steps at a time. Clutched in his hands were scraps of paper and index cards. A trickle of blood colored his left cheek, where apparently he barely missed having his head bashed in by the irate former British Empire. "HI MATT, BYE MATT!" yelled Alfred as he waved and ran out the door. Matthew barely had time to wave back before Alfred shot down the front walk and sprinted across the street.

"Where did that bugger run off to?" Arthur said as he came down the stairs.

Matthew shook his head, "Dunno. What did he take?"

Putting the poker back in its stand, Arthur said, "Just some papers. What idiot idea has he got in that brain of his this time?"

* * *

Matthew eased his car into Alfred's driveway and put his car into park. Alfred had been AWOL for the past few weeks and he was starting to get a little worried. Usually his hyperactive brother would bombard him with messages once or twice a week, but things had been absolutely quiet recently. It had been nice for a few days, but Matthew had started to find the silence unnerving. It wasn't until later that he was able to place a finger on why the lack of noise made him so nervous. It was like the calm before the storm.

And that was why he was here, standing in front of Alfred's house. Stomping on the welcome mat to knock the snow off his boots, Matthew rang Alfred's doorbell.

And waited.

And rang the doorbell again.

Huffing into his mittens, he leaned over the railing and peered into Alfred's window. It was dark inside, but he swore he saw the curtains move just slightly. Did Alfred step out for a moment? Matthew didn't see Alfred's car, but it could be parked in the garage. Or not. Matthew banged on the door, "Hey, Al! Are you in? Al!"

There was no response. Matthew sighed. So Alfred wasn't home. Okay, fine. Matthew turned around and surveyed the front yard. The lawn and the hedges were covered in several inches of snow, but the front walk was shoveled and so was the driveway. Obviously his brother had been home sometime in the past week to do the chores. Matthew started towards the steps, intending to wait in his car for Alfred's return when the front door clicked and he was dragged into the house by the collar of his jacket.

"Oof!" Matthew hit the floor with a thud, "What in the—mmpghf!" A hand covered Matthew's mouth, smothering his words.

"Shh! Shh! Mattie, be quiet," Alfred whispered, his breath tickled Matthew's ear. "Listen, did anyone follow you? Nod, if yes."

Matthew shook his head frantically. Follow? Why would anyone follow him?

"Good. Now, we're going to make our way to my library, but I need you to keep low and stay away from the windows, understand?" When Matthew nodded, Alfred released his hold and started to tiptoe towards the middle of the house. Confused, Matthew followed.

The floor was covered in a layer of dust and dishes were piled up on the floor. The house was completely silent, save for the humming of the refrigerator. Matthew was about to make a crack about what Arthur's reaction would be if he saw the state of Alfred's house until Matthew noticed the edgy look on Alfred's face. Something was going on.

It wasn't until they were in the library that Alfred relaxed and threw himself into the leather recliner with a groan. Rubbing his face, he said, "Oh Mattie, you gave me a scare there. I didn't expect anyone to come knocking on my door."

"Yes, I'm sorry I decided to…" Matthew's words trailed off. It looked like Alfred had been living in his library for the past couple of weeks. A mountain of instant ramen wrappers and soda cans were piled in a corner where Matthew vaguely recalled there used to be a garbage can. Jeans and t-shirts were scattered all over the shelves and furniture. Alfred had created a makeshift bed on the couch and all around it were notes and pieces of paper covered in chicken scratch. A portable electric stove was plugged in on the other side of the room. Matthew could see that there were beat-up pots and pans along with a large teapot. All the curtains were drawn and the only light in the room was a small lamp. "Oh my god. Where do you go to the bathroom?"

Alfred pointed to a closed door. "I thank the architect every night for giving this room its own bathroom."

Matthew shook himself out of his shock, "Al, what's wrong? Why are you doing this?!" He sat on the armrest next to his brother.

The dim light of the room cast dark shadows across Alfred's face, obscuring his expression, but the younger brother could feel the intensity of his gaze. Alfred slouched back into the recliner and sighed; it seemed like he was weighing something in his mind. Matthew squirmed uncomfortably, "What?"

Alfred didn't say anything for a moment and then he nodded to himself as if he'd made a decision. Resting his elbows on his knees, he brought his face close to Matthew's. His voice was clear and tinged with a layer of urgency, "Matt, I need you to promise me that you'll share none of this. Not with any of the other Nations, not even with your boss or officials. It's too dangerous to have this information floating out in public."

"Al, what's going on? How did this—"

Taking Matthew's hand in his, Alfred said, "Promise me."

Matthew frowned. The first thought that crossed his mind was whether this was another elaborate prank cooked up by his brother. It wouldn't be the first time and Matthew would be damned if he'd fall for another one. But the fine trembling in Alfred's hands and the plea in his voice was real. If Alfred had gotten himself into trouble, Matthew wanted to be there for him, "Okay, I promise."

* * *

Alfred placed the kettle on the burner with a clank. The water sloshed hollowly within. Smiling apologetically, Alfred said, "I was just about to eat lunch before you arrived. Do you want any instant ramen?"

"No, I'm good." Matthew shook his head. Alfred shrugged and rummaged through the room for clean eating utensils. After watching his brother debate between spicy seafood ramen and chashu-flavored udon style ramen for five minutes, Matthew cleared his throat impatiently, "C'mon, Al. Spill it."

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, Alfred sat down cross-legged on the floor with his ramen (the chashu-flavored one) and poured the boiling water into the Styrofoam bowl. He punched something into the digital cooking timer, "Now it'll be perfectly ready to eat after three minutes and fifty-six seconds." Alfred noticed the incredulous look on Matthew's face, "What?!"

Choking back his laughter, Matthew said, "You _time_ your instant ramen?"

"Don't you?"

"No!"

"But ramen needs to be done just right, or the soup and noodle texture is completely off and it'll taste funny!" Alfred scoffed, "Amateurs."

Matthew disguised his grin with a cough, "Okay, okay."

The two brothers sat in companionable silence. Matthew wouldn't have admitted it for anything in the world, but he'd been worried about his brother and seeing him alive (but probably not healthy; instant ramen for the past three weeks? Really, Alfred?) had calmed him down considerably.

Alfred shifted in his seat and started his story.

"Remember the world meeting we had? Not the recent one, but the one before that. Well, afterwards, me and some of the guys went to the bar around the corner, y'know? Nothing special, just something we always do to unwind. Prussia came even though he isn't a Nation anymore, and that meant France and Spain came too. Um, who else was there? Denmark, Holland, and South Korea. Russia was there too, but he came much later.

"Anyway, after a while, we were starting to get kinda plastered and France had already lost most of his clothing. Prussia and Spain were egging him on like they always do. You've seen it often enough too, right?"

Matthew nodded. He remembered that world meeting actually. It was on economics and trade; a really boring topic for even the most diligent Nation. And everyone had been antsy and fidgety by the end of the day. Matthew had tagged along with the group going to the bar, but he'd only collected a beer and retreated back to his room to prepare for the flight home.

Alfred continued talking, "So I'm sitting there, feeling good and relaxed when I overhear Wales talking to Taiwan about weapons of mass destruction." Alfred winced, "I know that after my previous boss, that phrase got a lot of ridicule, but still it caught my attention, you know? Wales and Taiwan were discussing the threat of nuclear weapons from North Korea or something and Wales goes, 'You want weapons of mass destruction? Try England's food. Now that there is some major destruction.' And Taiwan's all confused, but I'm falling off my stool agreeing with him 'cause growing up with England's cooking was brutal."

The timer started to beep and Alfred ripped the cover off the ramen and stirred the noodles. Taking a loud slurp, Alfred hummed contentedly, "Mmm, perfect." Swishing his chopsticks in the air, he said, "So where was I? Oh yeah, Wales continues talking about how bad England's food is, but now he's including me since he saw me listening. Then he brings up Old Man Rome and goes on and on about how Rome didn't see it coming at all and what a shame it was.

" After all that beer, my brain's just not seeing the connection, so I ask Wales what's England's cooking got to do with the fall of Rome. And remember, England's just a kid when Rome was around, how could he possibly do anything that'd harm the bastard? And you know what Wales, says?" Alfred deepened his voice, mimicking the older Nation, and leaned towards Matthew conspiratorially. The effect was ruined by the noodle dangling from his chin. "He says, 'The last I ever saw of Rome was when he was making his way to England's place. For dinner.'"

To be continued

* * *

My first intentional multi-chapter! Tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

"Excuse me? Is Wales trying to say Arthur _ate_ Rome?" Matthew was flabbergasted.

Alfred choked on his ramen, sending noodles and bits of green onions flying across the floor. His little brother pounded his back with a sigh. Alfred took a bracing gulp of cola before laughing hysterically, "Oh jeez, Matt. I've missed you these past few weeks. No, what Wales meant was that Arthur killed Rome with his awful cooking!"

Matthew gave Alfred an incredulous look, "As much as I agree that Arthur's cooking left a lot to be desired, you'd have to be completely plastered to believe a cock-and-bull story like that. I mean, aren't we perfectly good examples that Arthur's cooking is not deadly?"

Nodding furiously, Alfred said, "Yeah, yeah! I didn't believe it either! We're still alive and so are Hong Kong, Sealand, and Australia. But I thought some more-"

"Oh boy, now we're in trouble—"

"Shut up, Matt. There was a documentary I watched before that examined ancient Greek and Roman tales, like Homer's _Iliad_ and Ovid's _Metamorphoses_, and they hypothesized that even though these tales are full of gods and magic, they might also have a basis in real history. Since a lot of the evidence and records from those times have been destroyed or lost, the only way for us to see history is through these tales."

Matthew was starting to get a headache from trying to imagine Alfred willingly watching something that didn't feature car chases and spectacular explosions. Did he walk into an alternate dimension without noticing it?

Wrapped up in his excitement, Alfred failed to see his brother's confusion. He gestured wildly with his chopsticks, "So what I'm saying is that maybe Wale's story is true. Maybe Arthur did manage to create a recipe that was potent enough to destroy Rome without knowing it. Can you imagine what an awesome and terrifying weapon that would be? What do you think?"

"I think you need to check your water pipes for hallucinogens," deadpanned Matthew.

Alfred waved off his brother's comment with a careless flick of the wrist, "So ever since I snuck into Arthur's study and stole his cookbook, I've been making recipe after recipe and hoping to find this legendary weapon of mass destruction."

This explained the strange odor that he had noticed when he'd entered the room. And the pots and pans in the corner also made sense now. _Wait, a minute…_ Matthew raised his eyebrow, "How have you been testing each recipe?"

Alfred averted his eyes nervously, "I…I've been testing them on myself."

"WHAT?!" Matthew yelled. "You hate Arthur's food even during the best of times, and you're telling me that you've been eating it willingly for the past three weeks?!"

"Well, it's more like two weeks because sometimes the aftereffects were so strong, I needed time to recover," Alfred had the decency to look embarrassed.

Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose, "Now, I'm not saying you're right, but if there had been a killer recipe in there, wouldn't it be really stupid to try it on yourself?"

Alfred grinned proudly as if he had finally been given a question he knew the answer to, "Nope! Here's where our childhood trauma comes in handy; we have built up immunity to England's cooking!"

Had there been flies in the room, Matthew would have caught several with the way his mouth was hanging open. Shaking his head, he chalked up his brother's harebrained idea to the American tendency to rush ahead without much forethought. Eventually Alfred would return to the real world with an embarrassed grin, much like the time he went on the Pokemon capturing spree on his DS.

Standing up from the ottoman, Matthew stretched his arms over his head. "I guess I'd better be going. I don't want to disturb your work." _Or get dragged into taste testing_, he thought. "I'll be seeing you at the next world meeting, okay?"

Alfred's hand shot out and gripped Matthew's wrist, "Wait, hold on, did you hear that?"

"What?"

"I heard something outside."

"So?" Matthew tilted his head, confused. Then something occurred to him. "Why are all the curtains pulled?"

Before Alfred could answer his question, the window behind them shattered, tearing down the curtain and showering them with glass. The bullet hit Alfred's soda can and sent it spinning across the room. Alfred shouted and pulled Matthew down to the floor, covering his little brother's body with his own. A bullet technically couldn't kill them, but it would hurt like hell and keep them from escaping, which was probably the shooter's plan anyway.

Scrambling frantically, both boys crawled behind the couch, using it as a shield from whoever was aiming for them. The cold winter wind sent papers sailing around the room like snow.

Panting heavily, Matthew whispered, "What the hell's happening? Who's shooting at us?!"

Alfred merely muttered, "So it's come to this, huh?" Turning to Matthew, he whispered, "See that messenger bag over there? Can you grab it, quick? Wait for my cue, and then we'll make a run for it."

Matthew looked to his right and saw a bag propped up against the wall just a few feet in front of him. He prayed that whoever was shooting didn't have a trigger-happy finger, he stuck out his leg and hooked his foot through the strap. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Matthew pulled the bag closer and handed it to Alfred.

Alfred checked the contents before securing the bag to his shoulders. He pressed his back against the couch and drummed his fingers on the floor. Alfred's mind raced as he noted where the door to the hallway was and visualized their current position in relation to that of the shooter. Sending a prayer to whichever god watched over toddlers, idiots, and reckless nations, Alfred threw his head back and called out, "Russia! I know you're there! Come out!"

There was absolute silence for a moment, then Matthew heard a loud crunch and the tinkle of broken glass. A child-like giggle sent chills down his spine.

"America. And Canada, too. How very nice to see you both." Russia leapt off the window sill and landed lightly on his feet. He brushed the light dusting of snow from his jacket. "America, I suggest you remove that tree outside your window. It is very easy for burglars to sneak in."

"Duly noted, Russia. Now get the fuck out." America responded in a sing-song voice.

Russia's smile widened. He looked like he was having the time of his life. "America, I am afraid I cannot do that. You know what I want."

"It's a shame we can't always get what we want." Alfred retorted. Matthew jabbed his elbow into Alfred's stomach and shook his head, silently pleading his brother not to rile the crazy, sociopathic gun-wielding nation. Alfred smirked. "I'd love to chat, comrade, but it's getting late, so…"

Another shot rang out. Russia clucked his tongue disapprovingly, "America, I tire of this cat and mouse game. Hand over England's cookbook."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. _England's cookbook_?! _All this over a cookbook?!_ Matthew couldn't stay quiet anymore; someone had to clear up this mess. He waved his hand cautiously over the top of the couch and when he didn't lose any fingers, he stood up to face Russia. Alfred tried to pull him back down, but Matthew shook him off. "Okay, somehow you two are confused about something. England's cooking, while terrible, is not toxic nor can it be considered a weapon of mass destruction. It's not possible or all of England's charges, me and Alfred included, would not be here."

Gesturing around the room, Russia said, "Your brother does not agree with you."

"Well, Alfred's an idiot."

"You do have a point."

"HEY!" Alfred yelled. "I'm still here, y'know!"

"But still, he is the leading world power. Fools can see and speak the truth that others cannot." Russia pointed the gun at Canada. "This is merely a preemptive measure. It would not do if I lost to Alfred simply because I underestimated him. Now the book, Alfred, if you please."

Matthew held up his hands and tried to calm Russia down, "Wait a sec…" A bullet whizzed past his face and embedded itself into the wall behind him. Matthew felt the breeze ruffle his hair. He dropped to his knees behind the couch, covering his head with his arms. Looking over at Alfred, Matthew mouthed the words, "_He's nuts!" _And Alfred held up his hands and shrugged, as if saying, "_Yeah, well, what else is new?"_

"I will give you until the count of five, America, before I… how do you say? Oh, yes, blow your head to smithereens."

Alfred stood up quickly, "You know, Russia, I'm tired of being pushed around. I'm not afraid of you."

Russia shot the wall half a foot from Alfred's head. "One."

Alfred switched tactics, "But that doesn't mean we can't work something out!"

"Two"

Reaching underneath his shirt, Alfred pulled out a tattered notebook and waved it in the air, "See? Here it is! I'm really close to finding the recipe and I'd totally share!"

"You are joking. Three."

"How about a time share? You get half the week and I get the other half? C'mon!"

"Four"

"Okay, okay, okay! I'll give you the cookbook! Don't get your panties in a twist, jeez!"

Russia stopped counting, but kept his gun pointed at Alfred. Nodding at Canada, he said, "Hand the book to him. Canada, bring the book to me, then go back and stand next to America. Keep your hands in sight at all times."

Matthew glanced at Alfred, hoping his brother had a plan to get them out of this, but Alfred's face was blank and revealed nothing.

Alfred rolled the notebook into a cylinder and unfurled it nervously, "So if we give you the cookbook, you'll leave. Is that correct?"

"Da."

"Alright, fine," said Alfred as he tossed the notebook to Matthew. It was so sudden that Matthew fumbled and dropped it. "Matt, you're so clumsy," joked Alfred as he bent down to retrieve the notebook. As he straightened his body, he whispered, "Get ready to hold your breath," and handed the notebook to Matthew.

Matthew pressed the wrinkled journal to his chest. It was a simple loose-leaf notebook from a stationary store. Inside, Matthew could see the stapled sheets of paper and index cards that Alfred had stolen from Arthur's study. The notebook was covered in brown and green stains and smelled slightly of fish and bananas.

Gesturing with the gun, Russia beckoned at Matthew, "Come, Canada. But do not make any sudden moves."

Matthew took one step and another. Slowly he made his way towards Russia. As he reached the halfway point, he heard Alfred pipe up, "Wait." Matthew froze in his tracks. His heartbeat was thundering in ears. What was Alfred doing now?

"Y'know, Russia, if you just wanted England's food, I could've just given you some," said Alfred as he nonchalantly reached into the messenger bag.

"America, I told you to—"

"As a matter of fact, I have some here and I would love to share!" And with that, Alfred whipped something out and threw it at Russia. Flabbergasted, Matthew's eyes followed the trajectory of what looked like a water balloon fly across the room and hit the floor at Russia's feet. Upon impact, a green gooey mess exploded out of the balloon and a dense blue smoke billowed from the concoction. Russia shouted in alarm and his gun went off accidentally as he tried to get away from the strange smoke.

Matthew fell to his knees clutching his shoulder. He felt hot blood seeping through his fingers and soaking his clothes. Spots began to dance in his vision as the shock of being shot overtook his body. Remembering Alfred's earlier words, Matthew smothered his face in the crook of his elbow, breathing through his shirt. The smoke smelled like rotten eggs covered in caramel. Despite the adrenaline flowing through his veins, Matthew was starting to feel a little sleepy for some reason. Squatting low to the ground to avoid the smoke, Matthew searched for a sign of his brother, but the dense oily fog obscured everything from his sight.

Matthew heard a loud thud to his right and screamed when someone collided into him, partly from the fear and partly from the pain. Alfred's muffled voice flooded his ears, "Oh my God, Matt. Matt, you're shot. God, I'm so sorry." Tied across the lower half of Alfred's face was a paisley handkerchief; he had been prepared for this. Alfred ran his hands all over Matthew's body, searching for unseen wounds. "We can't stay; we have to go now. Matt, can you get up?"

Matthew nodded and allowed Alfred to pull him to his feet. Through the dissipating smoke, Matthew saw Russia's still form lying on the floor. The large nation didn't have any wounds that Matthew could see; it was as if he'd fainted where he was standing. Or at least, it looked like Russia had fainted. He looked questioningly at Alfred.

Alfred caught his look and said, "He's only fainted from the smoke." He walked over and picked up the fallen gun. Alfred checked the safety before removing all the bullets and putting them in his pocket. "He'll only be out for a short while, we need to hightail it." Shoving the notebook into his bag, Alfred led Matthew out of the room and down the hall. . The snow was falling as they stumbled down the front steps and sprinted for Matthew's car.

Puffs of steam issued from Matthew's mouth as he fumbled through his pockets for his keys, but the shock was making it hard to control his movements. He could feel his panic rising with each second.

Worried, Alfred reached over and cupped Matthew's face in his hands. "Calm down, Mattie. Breathe with me. In… Out…" Matthew closed his eyes and listened to Alfred's voice, letting it run over and around him. When he regained his composure, he reached into the right pocket of his jeans (how he missed it the first time, he didn't know) and pulled out his car keys. Alfred grinned and grabbed the keys from Matthew, "I'm driving and, damn, we gotta get outta here pronto!"

Matthew nodded in agreement and slid into the passenger seat. Alfred gunned the engine and backed out of the driveway. Shifting into drive, he sped down the street like a bat out of hell. Matthew slouched in his seat; suddenly he felt too weak to lift his head. If he were standing, he'd probably have collapsed to the floor. He faintly heard Alfred cranking up the heat in the car, which made Matthew realize that he'd been shivering.

Rousing himself from his stupor, Matthew straightened his back, "W…where are we going?"

Alfred took his eyes off the road for a second and looked over his little brother, "We're finding a convenience store so I can find some first aid shit to stop that bleeding."

"'M fine, Al."

"No, you're not. You're in shock and I can't have some cripple dragging me down, so you have no choice but to listen," stated Alfred.

Matthew smirked, "That was so something Arthur would say."

Relieved that Matthew was feeling well enough to be sarcastic, Alfred shot Matthew his million-watt smile and replied, "You take that back!"He pulled into a parking space in front of the store. "Wait here."

Matthew toyed with the radio stations as he waited for Alfred's return. Techno, emo, opera, rock, punk-rock, alternative… So Alfred had been hiding in his house not just because he was testing recipes. From the conversation earlier, it sounded like Russia had already made an attempt for the cookbook. That meant Alfred and Russia had been playing this cat and mouse game for the past three weeks… How did Russia find out about it anyway?

He vaguely recalled Russia being in the story Alfred had told earlier. Did Russia overhear Wales' tale as well? Another question hit Matthew: if Russia knew, then did any of the other nations know? Who else had been in that bar?

He was still pondering the question when Alfred came back with several plastic bags. "I bought some food and water too, just in case," Alfred chattered happily as he tossed the bags in the backseat. "The chips were on sale and I wanted to buy some, then I realized I wanted Macdonald's, bad. You know how long it's been since I've had a hamburger? Instant ramen is good, but I want variety! Now excuse me as I rip your clothes off. "

"Hey!" Squeaked Matthew as Alfred reached over and rent apart his ruined hoodie down the middle. Despite the warm air circulating throughout the car, goose bumps marched up and down his arms. His body was clammy with sweat. Matthew squirmed uncomfortably.

Alfred gently eased the torn shirt off Matthew, paying close attention to where the fabric was caked with blood and stuck to his skin. "Sorry. You're too injured to be raising your arms and the shirt is wrecked anyway," apologized Alfred. He dropped the bloody thing into a garbage bag and tied it off.

Alfred l eaned in and examined the wound. "Good, I had thought so earlier, but it looks like the bullet just grazed you. And the bleeding has almost stopped. All we have to do is disinfect it, really." Alfred opened a bottle of water and set to cleaning off the dried blood.

Matthew wrinkled his nose as Nantucket fluttered in front of his face. Their close proximity made him squirm uncomfortably. He reflected that bathroom sinks weren't the greatest of places to take a bath and that Alfred had probably been doing just that. "Ah, Alfred, I—OW!"

"Sorry, this might sting."

"Warn me beforehand!" Matthew yelped as Alfred continued to dab at the wound.

Alfred rolled his eyes, "I'm warning you now. Suck it up."

"Your bedside manners suck," mutter Matthew.

For once Alfred took the highroad and ignored Matthew. The two boys were silent for a couple of minutes; the only sound in the background was the soft twang of the country music coming from the radio. Matthew cleared his throat, "So, ah, what was that?"

"What was what?"

Matthew winced as Alfred applied antiseptic cream to the wound, "That water balloon thingy you threw at Russia."

Alfred stuck out his tongue in concentration as he started to bandage Matthew's shoulder, wrapping the gauze over his shoulder and around his chest, "That was…recipe no. 56."

"What?"

"That was the 56th recipe I tried out of the bunch I 'borrowed' from Arthur. That recipe's actually really harmless, even though it looks like some prehistoric killer goo. Tastes kinda like…pennies with a dash of durian and chili peppers. And it makes a helluva lot of smoke for some reason though, as you saw. I think it's a chemical reaction to something." Rummaging through one of the plastic bags, Alfred pulled out a new hoodie, "Here, I bought this in the store since your clothes are ruined." Alfred threw the shirt over Matthew's head and tugged it down, gently easing his arms through the sleeves.

Matthew sank into the warmth of the shirt. Topless in winter was chilly even with the car heater on high. "So why did Russia faint?"

"It's a side effect. Most of Arthur's food is just bad, but this one puts you to sleep. I stored some of it in a water balloon just in case I needed to use it." Alfred ripped open a bag of cookies. "The smoke's pretty potent by itself; ingesting it means you'll be out of commission for half a day, but I didn't think Russia would eat anything I offered him."

Matthew took one of the Oreos Alfred was stuffing down his throat. Chewing slowly, he thought over Alfred's words, "So that means… after you made it, you fainted from the smoke, and then when you woke up, you decided to eat it, anyway?!"

"Yup," Alfred replied.

"You're either crazy or a major masochist. I have a sinking feeling it's both."

"I blame it on Arthur's tender love and care," shot back Alfred. "Anyway, the smoke will only put Russia to sleep for about ten minutes, so we gotta make sure no one's tailing us. Russia's bound to be awake and madder than a wet cat now."

"So that recipe wasn't deadly at all?"

"Nope," Alfred paused and thought about it some more. "Well, when I cooked it up, I kinda fell face first into the pot. I scalded myself pretty bad and nearly drowned, so in a sense, it was pretty deadly for me!"

"Al."

"Yes?"

"You're an idiot."

"Love you too, Matt."

-------------

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

After Alfred executed his daring and mind-blowing plan to throw anyone who might be following them off their trail(by driving around a roundabout in the _opposite_ direction twice. Oh Alfred, you rebel you.), they took the nearest interstate highway out of the city. Matthew found himself constantly checking the side mirrors. He didn't know what he was looking for though. Perhaps a suspicious black car with dark tinted windows and large neon sign flashing, "Russia. Russia. Russia."

"—att. Matt!" Alfred poked his brother in the side.

Matthew jumped in his seat, "What?!" There was a car behind them that was making him nervous. Granted, it wasn't black with tinted windows and had a family of five sitting in there, but Russia could have recruited some spies or invented robots that looked very human and could drive and eat at the same time.

"You'll just make your wound worse if you keep craning your head around like that." Alfred reached over and twisted Matthew's head so he faced front.

Embarrassed, Matthew batted Alfred's hand away, "Stop that. And pay attention to the road."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "I need a break. Let's find some me some burgers."

"We've only been driving for an hour! Russia could be behind us!"

Preoccupied, Alfred flipped on the turn signal and pulled into the exit lane, "Well, maybe Russia could join us and we could have a nice chat…" At the scandalized look Matthew sent him, Alfred broke out into laughter, "I'm kidding, Matt! He's nowhere behind us! I've been watching the roads too, y'know?"

Matthew pouted, but couldn't slouch in his seat because it hurt too much. Fifteen minutes later, the car smelled like French fries, Big Macs, and soda. Matthew had argued that they needed to put as much distance between them and Russia, so they had compromised by going through a drive-thru and eating in the car. Matthew began to regret his decision the moment Alfred started shoveling French fries in his mouth—not because Al ate like a pig, but because he was driving with his knees and holding his burger in one hand and French fries in the other. Clutching his own cheeseburger a little tighter as Alfred managed to signal and change lanes without putting anything down, Matthew asked, "Isn't that a little dangerous?"

"I do this all the time! Soda me!"

Resisting the urge to "accidentally" jam the straw up his brother's nose, Matthew shoved the soda under Alfred's chin so he could take a long slurp of his fizzy drink. The rest of the drive up north was considerably less dangerous. They camped out in rest stops and ate greasy roadside fare. After much begging and pleading, Alfred convinced Matthew into lending one of his houses to Alfred as a safe house. Like all nations, Matthew had accumulated several houses under his human name; it helped build his connection with the land and his children. So really, it wouldn't be any trouble to let his brother hang out at one, except for the fact that there was a crazed nation hunting him.

Still, Matthew directed Alfred to a little place situated close to town so Alfred could buy easily buy supplies for his recipes, but far enough that no bystanders would be harmed if Russia or any other nations decided to drop by. And it's not like Russia would know where Canada's house was or even which one they'd go to, right? It would at least give them time to recoup and think up a more secure plan.

As they crossed the border into Canada, Matthew felt a tingle go up and down his spine. His land recognized and welcomed him home. Suddenly he could feel his land and people much more clearly; it was like having an allergy you didn't even know you had clear up. Matthew frowned and concentrated for a second. It was faint, but Matthew felt the presence of another nation on his land. During peacetime, it was always near impossible to tell who the other nation was—unless the intruding nation was feeling stressed, angry, or any other strong emotion. And this unknown nation was calm and content. Shrugging his shoulders, Matthew gave the matter no more thought. It's not like he refused any of the nations visiting rights. Maybe they were just passing through on their way elsewhere.

"Something up? Are your spidey senses tingling?" Alfred had noticed Matthew's preoccupied look.

Matthew snorted at Alfred's nickname for the sixth sense that came with their nationhood. He hated to admit it though, it was an apt description for the connection they had with their country. "Nothing really. Just felt someone on my land."

"Russia?"

"No…" Matthew paused. "Does Russia show up on your spidey senses?"

Alfred pondered the question for a second, "You know what? It sort of blinkers in and out. I think the Cold War made me more aware of his presence, but at the same time, he's damn good at keeping his feelings under wraps."

"Is he ever, y'know, angry or anything?"

"Just homicidal. Mostly. Actually, I can't really tell."

"Huh."

"Uh-huh."

Alfred and Matthew sat in silence for a while.

"You totally owe me for this." Matthew snickered behind his hand. "Arthur will throw a fit when he finds out what you're calling his food and that you dragged me into this."

"Heroes aren't afraid of no one!" Alfred proclaimed loudly at the top of his lungs. "Heroes don't owe anyone either! You should be glad I let you come along to defend justice and democracy!"

Matthew cocked his eyebrow.

Alfred hunched over the steering wheel, "I'll buy you three months worth of maple syrup."

"Six."

"Three."

"Five."

"Three."

"Four and that's my final offer."

"Deal. Let us never mention this to Arthur," Alfred grinned.

Matthew laughed. "Okay, okay. It's not like you have anything to be afraid of, anyway. What's the worst he can do? Make you eat his cooking?" Matthew continued to direct Alfred towards his house as they bantered back and forth. Taking the freeway exit, the scenery rapidly changed into a nice, quiet suburb. It was only 5 in the afternoon, but the sky was starting to darken and the weak sunlight gave way to the shadows; all around were people rushing to get home after a day of hard work at school or at their job. Matthew breathed a sigh of relief as his house pulled into view. He would be glad to finally take a long shower and eat something that wasn't deep fried.

"Hey, Matt?"

"What?"

"Did you get a new car?"

"No. Why?"

Worry began to creep into Alfred's voice, "Because there's a car parked in your driveway."

******

Alfred drove around to the back alleyway and parked behind a large commercial van for camouflage. Since neither of the boys recognized the car, they decided that the best plan would be for Matthew to enter the house like he would normally. It wouldn't do to alert any of the other nations about the supposed weapon of mass destruction. Play it cool.

The keys jangled as Matthew unlocked the back door and stepped into the kitchen. "Hello? Is anyone there?" The lights were on, but the house was quiet. There was a glass of water sitting on the counter; the condensation frosted the glass and beads of water pooled around the base. From somewhere in the front of the house, Matthew heard soft padded footsteps make their way to where he was. Steeling himself for the worst, Matthew turned towards the door leading to the hallway.

"Matthieu, _mon cher!"_ Francis' golden head poked into the room. "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you!"

Matthew dropped his keys on the dining table and shrugged out of his jacket. "I had something I needed to look to." Sharp clicks filled the air as Matthew put a small saucepan on the stove to warm up some milk. He opened his cupboard and reached for the hot chocolate mix. The normalcy of his actions soothed him, but Francis' presence made him tense. Wasn't Francis also at the bar when Wales told his story? "I'm sorry, but did we have something planned?"

Francis gripped his chest in fake distress and wailed dramatically, "Y-you mean you forgot our plans? Oh, Matthieu, my dear, I am so hurt."

Laughing uncertainly, Matthew grabbed two mugs and placed them on the table. "I've been so busy lately. Things keep slipping my mind."

"_Mon lapin_, you mustn't work so hard. It's not good for your health." Sighing despondently, Francis sidled up to Matthew and bumped hips. "You promised we'd get together and catch up this week. You might not be my colony anymore, but still I want to see you."

Matthew clapped his hand to his forehead. "That's right! And I completely forgot! I'm so sorry, Francis! But I got caught up in somethi—"

Francis nuzzled Matthew's hair, "It's alright. I understand it happens to us. Things get hectic, _non?_ We'll sit down and watch a couple of movies. Surely you deserve a break."

Matthew smiled guiltily. He did need a break, but it wasn't for the reasons Francis was thinking of. It made him feel all levels of evil for lying to his father figure. Matthew wanted to crawl into the nearest hole in the ground. Francis draped his arm around Matthew's shoulder and Matthew yelped in pain.

Francis' eyes widened in surprise, "What's happened? Are you hurt?" he exclaimed.

"I-I hurt my shoulder, but Alfred patched me up—"

"Alfred did?"

"Yes and—Oh my gosh, Alfred! I'm sorry, Francis, I also invited Alfred over. He needs a place to stay and I told him he could come here." Matthew shot an apologetic look at Francis, who smiled and said that he'd be more than happy to see Alfred. Relieved, Matthew whipped out his phone and hit the speed-dial for Alfred. He let it ring once and then hung up. It was their code. One ring meant all was okay. Several rings meant run for the hills.

A couple seconds later, loud clomping footsteps could be heard and Alfred burst through the backdoor. His face was red from the cold and he was breathing rather heavily, as if he'd run a mile. Clearly expecting someone else, he blinked owlishly at Francis. Then he grinned and bounced into the room. "Francis! What you are doing here?"

Francis folded his arms across his chest and stared pointedly at Alfred.

"What?" Nervousness twitched across Alfred's handsome features. Matthew gulped thickly. Panic started to rise. Was Francis actually after the recipe? His hands started to sweat.

Finally Francis sighed loudly and shook his head, "I know boys like to play rough, but could you try not to hurt my dear Mathieu? You must get this behavior from that caterpillar-browed landmass."

Alfred's grin returned hundred fold. Slapping Francis on the back, "No way! My awesomeness is all me!" The tension broke and suddenly the room felt much friendlier. Matthew pulled out another mug for Alfred and soon the three nations trooped to the living room to chat and watch bad horror movies. Outside the snow began to fall again. Surrounded by the safety of his home and two of his closest nations, Matthew could hardly believe craziness that had just happened a couple days ago. It just seemed so silly. As a matter of fact, Russia had probably decided that the whole weapon of mass destruction was just a stupid Alfred-esque idea and was boarding a plane back to Moscow right now. Yeah. That's probably what was happening right now.

Yeah.

************

"Veee~ Where are we going, brother?"

"Don't stop packing, Veniciano, and I told you where we're going already."

"But it'll be too heavy. I won't be able to lift it, ve~"

"Here, Italy. Let me help."

"Thank you, Lud—"

"You stinking potato bastard, stop cozying up to my—"

"Lovi, Lovi, I bought the tickets. Four tickets to visit America!"

"Four tickets?! Who invited you, bastard? And who invited Mr. Potatohead over there? This is strictly family business."

"But you'll miss me, Lovi."

"I don't need no stinkin' tomato-loving bastar—"

"Why are we going to visit America, ve?"

"Because he has a new secret weapon which we are going to steal! With this weapon, the _famiglia_ will take over the world and no one will make fun of us again!"

Italy clapped his hands and Spain cheered. Germany covered his face with his hands and tried not to sob.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay! Frantically finishing up graduation stuff took a toll on me. On the plus side, I'm officially graduating at the end of May! Woot!

* * *

With a frantic gasp, Matthew's eyes flew open, jerking himself out slumber. Breathing heavily, he unclenched his tight fists, releasing the damp and rumpled blankets. His scalp prickled with sweat and his nightclothes were plastered to his skin. Sitting up, he rubbed his face and concentrated on getting his breathing down to normal. Slowly reality returned to him and banished the nightmare to the dark recesses of his mind. Outside, the sky was already beginning to lighten and the streetlamps flickered off one by one.

Something was wrong. He remembered vaguely that he had been dreaming something pleasant, but at some point the dream had gone downhill and sense of foreboding and the urge to flee had gripped his mind. Wiping his clammy palms on the quilt restlessly, he forced himself to concentrate on his immediate surroundings, trying to figure out what had awoken him.

When he couldn't find anything, he expanded his concentration to his land and people. Was there something wrong? A disaster or something? Though he was a relatively young nation, he knew that it was foolhardy to dismiss such strong fear as just a random occurrence. Again, he found nothing. Could it really have been his overwrought nerves?

Breathing a sigh of relief, Matthew rolled himself out of bed. Rifling through his dresser, he pulled out another shirt and peeled off the sweat soaked one he was wearing. As he was tugging it over his head, he heard a loud clatter and a shout downstairs. "What in the world…?" Matthew hurriedly yanked on the clean shirt and rushed towards the escalating sounds of panic.

He nearly broke his neck running down the stairs. His heart was already going a mile a minute, but when the fire alarm went off, Matthew could have sworn his heart had climbed up his ribcage and was making a bid for freedom. Skidding into the kitchen, Matthew yelled, "What's going on—WHOA!" Arms flailing, he grabbed hold of the counter as his foot slipped and he nearly ended up flat on his back.

Shoulders screaming in protest, he hauled himself up to a stable position and surveyed the room. His slippers squished unpleasantly in a gooey pale substance that was all over the linoleum as well as the counters and the cupboards. Scorch marks blackened the ceiling over the stove. Wearing an apron, a pair of safety goggles, and an oven mitt on each hand, Alfred gingerly lifted the lid of a smoking frying pan and when his eyebrows didn't get scorched off, he picked up the whole thing and dumped it in the sink, where it sizzled and steamed.

"WHAT'S GOING ON, AL?" yelled Matthew over the alarm.

"WHAT?!"

"WHAT HAPPENED—oh for crying out loud." Matthew slipped and slid over to the fire alarm and pressed the off button. Both boys breathed a sigh of relief as the silence filled the kitchen. "Okay, what happened?"

Alfred pulled the goggles up and rested them on his head. "Um… I was trying another one of the recipes and for some reason, it exploded on me." With his knees bent and his arms extended for balance, he pushed off the side of the counter and slid over to the kitchen table in a strangely graceful movement. Not bothering to attempt to pull out a chair, he plopped his butt on the tabletop, much to Matthew's dismay. "I thought I had identified all the potentially explosive recipes, but I guess I miscalculated. I wasn't expecting it to do that."

Matthew groaned and slapped his forehead. He knew it was a bad idea to give Alfred permission to test more recipes as long as Matthew himself wasn't expected to help taste test. It had been several days since they had escaped to Matthew's house, but no sign of the crazed Russian nation yet. Or any other nation for that matter. Matthew took that as a sign that anyone who had wanted the cookbook had finally realized that England's cooking couldn't possibly be the next weapon of mass destruction.

All except one person, that was.

America swung his feet back and forth as he penciled something into his increasingly tattered cookbook. "Huh…who would have thought adding English tea spiked with cumin and stale baguettes into the pan would make it go kaboom? I'll remember that for next time…"

Matthew yelped as he almost slipped again. "Next time?! There will be no next time! Get a towel and—whoa, oh shi—"

"Mathieu, is something the matter?" Francis gripped Matthew's upper arm, steadying his former colony. Francis' eyes widened as he took in the carnage. "And what happened here? If I didn't know better, I would have thought you invited Arthur over to cook."

Matthew studied his feet, at a loss for words. Alfred broke the silence first, "Er… I tried to cook something."

Francis quirked an elegant eyebrow, "Now that, I do not believe, Alfred. While your taste buds are lacking, your cooking is certainly not this catastrophic." He ran a finger through a blob on the counter and brought it up to his lips. "However—"

"No, w—" Alfred's hand shot out to stop Francis from licking his finger, but he lost his footing and ended up faceplanting on the floor.

"—we should probably clean this up before it cements… Oh dear that tasted strange." Francis hiccupped and tried to say excuse me, except what he really said was, "Ribbit."

Alfred and Matthew stared at Francis.

Francis ribbited again.

"Er, Francis, are you alright? You look a little pale." Hesitant, Matthew reached out to press his hand to Francis' forehead when suddenly there was a loud _snap_ and Francis disappeared in a poof of smoke…setting off the fire alarm again.

Eyes watering and coughing up a storm, Matthew pulled himself along the kitchen counter towards the backdoor. Throwing himself at the handle and hoping he wouldn't end up sliding out and down the stairs to the alleyway, Matthew wretched open the door. Cold air rushed in and sent shivers coursing down his spine, but the smoke began to dissipate quite nicely.

Meanwhile, Alfred had pushed himself over and turned off the fire alarm. Still coughing, he waved his hand in the air, trying to move off the remaining smoke. "Francis?"

Right on the spot where Francis had been standing was a pile of clothing. It was as if he evaporated into thin air. Rumors of how quickly Francis could strip notwithstanding, Matthew had a feeling that this case was less naked French nation running around and more Francis accidentally volunteering himself as a guinea pig for Alfred's experiments. "Francis, are you okay? Where did you go?" Slipping and sliding over, Matthew picked up Francis' bathrobe using only his fingertips. "Francis?"

But there was no reply. Suddenly, the bathrobe in Matthew's hand shivered and tried to jump away from him. Alfred shouted in alarm. Matthew squeaked in surprise and dropped the piece of clothing like a hot potato. Unfortunately the sudden movement threw off his balance and he flailed his arms for a bit before falling forward onto this hands and knees. He grimaced as the impact jarred his bones and the strange goop on the floor soaked into his pants.

Of course all that was forgotten as a small green frog crawled out of the sleeve of the bathrobe. Staring in disbelief, Matthew poked a finger into the frog's side, trying to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating and that there was an amphibian in his kitchen. The frog slapped Matthew's hand away. "Surely I have taught you better than that, Mathieu. Fingers are not for poking."

"Francis?! You…You're…You've turned into a frog!"

"Well, I've always been the country of _amour_, but contrary to Angleterre's ever loving words, I am not nor have I ever been a frog. Now, what are you talking about and why does Alfred look like a fish?"

Alfred's mouth snapped shut and he grabbed a large ladle from the hook. Holding it up so Francis could see his reflection in the curved reflective surface, both boys waited anxiously for Francis' reaction.

Francis placed a webbed hand on the shiny metal and gazed at his reflection, turning his head this way and that. He ran his hands over his body and stared at his long green arms and legs. Not believing his own eyes, Francis looked at Alfred for confirmation, then at Matthew. At Matthew's nod, Francis croaked a strangled i_Mon Dieu/i_ and fainted.

"…You know, green's not really his color," mused Alfred.

* * *

Matthew and Alfred sat in the living room, huddled by the heater and clutching mugs of coffee as if they were the last safe anchor in a hurricane. After cleaning up the kitchen and throwing away the ruined pots and pans, the two boys had, by some unspoken agreement, needed something normal to wake them up, and what else was more normal than morning coffee?

Alfred cleared his throat and swirled the remnants of his mug. "So, um. Yeah."

"Yeah, eh?"

"Right."

Matthew glanced at the frog-shaped nation laying in the plate of shallow water he had filled for it. He'd never had a pet frog before, but he remembered vaguely that frogs needed to be wet to stay alive. What it meant when the frog was the physical embodiment of a nation, he had no idea, but Francis seemed to be okay if still unconscious.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Matthew reflected that when Francis woke up, they were going to be in a world of trouble. A smothered snort drew his attention. He looked up to see Alfred hunched over his mug, giggling quietly.

Aghast, Matthew yelled, "Alfred! This is serious!" At which Alfred stopped trying to hide his mirth and exploded into laughter, spilling coffee down his shirt.

Alfred slid off his seat and landed on his butt with a loud plop, which made him laugh even harder. Tears were streaming from his eyes and he clutched his belly. Gasping he said, "D-Did you see his face before he f-fainted?! Omigod!"

Matthew fought the smile that was threatening to take over. "Well, it was kind of a shock…"

"No shit." Hiccupping, Alfred pulled his glasses off and wiped the lenses on his shirttail. Putting it back on, he caught Matthew's eye, and they stared at each other for two seconds before bursting into raucous laughter.

Every time one of them started to wind down, one of the boys would catch the other's eye and that was enough to set them off again. When his cheeks were started to hurt from smiling, Matthew forced himself to calm down. "You know that Arthur's going to gloat forever about this. Turning Francis into a frog…" Matthew smothered a hysterical giggle that threatened to burst out.

Alfred paled and grabbed Matthew's ankle. "You can't tell Arthur! You promised! We had an agreement!"

Frowning, Matthew planted his foot in Alfred's face and attempted to push him off his leg. "Well, how _else_ are we supposed to turn Francis back?"

"I don't know! The side effects usually don't last that long! He'll probably turn back to normal in a day or two, I swear!"

"You don't know that and Francis—" Matthew stopped midsentence as a quiet moan rose from the coffee table. Alfred whipped his head around; panicking because he knew the end was near. They would go to Arthur and he'd never ever hear the end of it.

Using the sudden distraction as an opportunity to finally kick Alfred off his legs, Matthew fell to his knees and gazed at the small amphibian. "Francis, how are you feeling?"

Francis pressed a webbed hand to his forehead and winced. It felt weird making human facial expressions on a decidedly non-human face. "I must admit that I've been better."

Alfred piped up, "You sound like you have a f—"

"Don't say it," said Francis and Matthew in unison.

"What?! C'mon, I've been saving that gem since Francis got turned into a frog." Alfred rolled his eyes at Francis's glare. "You guys just don't have a sense of humor.

The front doorbell rang. Matthew raised an eyebrow; it was still early morning. Why would anyone be knocking on his door? He excused himself from the conversation just as Francis was saying something about the American's humor and raw sewage.

"Well, I'm just saying, you should just look on the bright side of things." America leaned back into the sofa and regarded the little frog.

"And what is that? The fact that I have slime between my toes?"

"It's not slime. It's mucus."

"I do not exaggerate when I say I hate you."

"Um, guys?" Matthew called from the foyer.

"What is it, Mathieu?"

Matthew walked in with his hands up in the air and a gun held to his head. "We have a problem."

Russia smiled at America. "How nice to see you again, America. Now, the book…?"

**TBC!**

**Notes:  
**

Lovely thanks to my beta, aoi_aka, who puts up with me and gave me a much needed poke.

The line "It's not slime, it's mucus," is shamelessly taken from the movie, _The Princess and the Frog_.


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred jumped up from his seat, his arms held stiffly at his sides and his body trembling with agitation. "You leave my brother out of this!"

Russia put his free hand on Matthew's waist, dwarfing the blonde man as he pulled him closer. Not taking his eyes off Alfred, Russia chided, "You brought your brother into this the moment you decided not to give me the cookbook. His life is in your hands, America. Decide if the book is worth the price of your brother's pain."

Matthew whimpered as Russia's fingers dug into his flesh. The bigger man spoke close to Matthew's ear, his breath tickling his skin. "Let's hope your brother makes the right decision, _da_?"

"Al, please, just—"

Alfred held his hand up. Tears glistened in his eyes. "I know what you're going to say, Matt. And I promise you, I won't give him the book."

Matthew's jaw dropped.

"I always knew you supported my fight for freedom even if you got mad at me a lot and told me I was a stubborn jackass. I-I can't tell you how much your sacrifice means to me. When this is all over, I'll build a humongous statue of a pancake in your hono—OW!" The slipper that Matthew threw at Alfred bounced off his face, sending Texas skittering across the floor. Russia merely looked amused.

Gathering his composure, Matthew straightened his clothing and huffed. "International politics, aside, just give him the stupid book. There's no way Arthur's cooking can possibly be a weapon of mass destruction. This has gone far enough."

Alfred sputtered, "But all my hard work! My research! I was so close!"

"I'm not going to let my brains get blown out simply because you believed in a drunken man's rambling bar tale. Give it."

"But—"

"Now, Alfred." Despite the fact that Matthew was a quiet nation even when angry and the younger brother of the two, he had inherited Arthur's evil headmaster glare and he wasn't afraid to use it.

Without his glasses, Alfred's big blue eyes looked bluer than usual as he widened them as big as he could, every atom of his being begging Matthew not to do this. His lower lip trembled. A lock of golden blonde hair fell over his forehead. He clasped the filthy notebook to his chest in a silent plea. Matthew glared back stubbornly, unmoved by his brother.

Exasperated, Alfred sighed and thrust the book out towards Russia. "Fine. Take it. But you better watch your back, _comrade._"

Russia reached out and took the notebook from Alfred. Flipping through it with one hand, he checked the contents before sliding it into the inner pocket of his coat. "No, America. I believe it is you who is needing to watch your back. Good bye."

Matthew felt the tension drain out of his body as he saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The sooner Russia left with the notebook, the sooner Matthew could go back to his normal life. He moved to step away when suddenly the bigger man wrapped his arm around Matthew's neck and jerked him back. Matthew managed to yell, "What the fuc—" before Russia tightened his hold and cut off his air supply.

"What the hell are you doing, you fucking commie?" Alfred's face was apoplectic with rage.

"I forgot to mention I will be borrowing Canada as my hostage. Come after the book, and your brother will be in much pain." Matthew made a strangled sound as Russia started walking backwards towards the door. The gun pointed at America never wavered.

With a triumphant grin that scared the shit out of Alfred although he would never admit it, Russia gave a lazy salute with his gun and exited the room.

The powdery snow on the front steps froze Matthew's toes as Russia shoved him towards the driveway, where a suspicious black car with tinted windows was parked. Screwing up his eyes and throwing his hands skyward, Matthew yelled to no one in particular, "I was being facetious about the car!"

Russia looked at him strangely. "Get in."

Matthew crossed his arms and sat down in the snow. He hoped his butt wasn't going to get frostbitten. "No. Let me go."

Russia fired a bullet into the ground half a foot from Matthew's right knee. "Get. In."

Matthew looked straight into Russia's eyes. "Fuck. You."

They glared at each other, the seconds ticking by. Silently, Russia holstered his gun and grabbed Matthew by the collar of his shirt. Opening the passenger door, he dragged Matthew through the snow, trying to haul the smaller man into the car. All the while, Matthew made himself as unwieldy as possible and grabbed any sort of handhold he could find.

Pulling Matthew up by his armpits, Russia huffed. "Why do you have to make this so difficult?"

"I'm sorry that I feel great aversion to being kidnapped."

"There are worse things—"Russia started to speak, but he was interrupted as a large object came hurtling from behind the bushes and rammed into him, sending him stumbling several feel away.

Matthew looked up in surprise at his savior. "Gilbert?"

"TAKE THAT, YOU FUCKING CRAZY RUSKI!" Gilbert stood protectively over Matthew with his hands on his hips and his chest thrown out. "What the hell were you doing to my Mattie?"

"Gilbert?" At the sound of his brother's voice, Matthew looked up to see Alfred running down the steps holding a pistol in one hand and Francis in the other. He also noticed that Alfred had taken the time to change into outdoor gear, while he was sitting in the snow wearing nothing but his PJs. So glad to see that he was still so high on his brother's list of priorities.

"What the hell are you doing here—never mind, tackle Russia! Don't let him get away!" yelled Alfred.

"Wha—" Confused, Gilbert frowned at Russia, who was rapidly making his way towards the driver's side of the car. "What did you do to America, Ruski?"

Russia leaned over and slammed the passenger door shut. Rolling down the window, he giggled. "Just desserts, Gilbert. Just desserts." He revved the engine and took off, wheels screeching.

"AWW FFFFU—" Alfred skidded to the middle of the road and took a shot at Russia's car. It pinged uselessly on the license plate.

Before he could take another shot, Matthew grabbed his arm and pointed the gun to the ground. "Are you _trying_ to endanger my people? Stop and get in my car!"

Alfred was close to tears as he threw his arms around Matthew's head and pulled him to his chest. Matthew heard Francis sputter and flail around in his hair, getting more tangled by the minute. Alfred wailed, "I'm so sorry, Matt! This is all my fault and the bastard commie nearly kidnapped you."

Matthew tried to push away, but damn Alfred and his freakishly strong body. After a couple of hard shoves, Matthew resigned himself to being stuck to Alfred's chest until he calmed down. Instead, he turned his head to look at Gilbert. "So what you are doing at my place?"

Gilbert flushed. "Your awesome meter was getting kinda low, so I thought I would be generous and help you out."

"My awesome meter?"

"Yeah, you were falling to dangerously low levels and that's dangerous."

"Dangerous." Matthew smirked.

Gilbert turned even redder. "Stop parroting me."

"Ah, _mon vieux, _it never ceases to amuse me when you are like this."

"Go fuck yourself, Francis." Gilbert looked around in surprise. "Francis?"

Francis waved from his vantage point at the top of Matthew's head. "_Allô_."

Gilbert's jaw dropped. "You…" He snorted and exploded into laughter. He clutched his sides as tears rolled down his face. "That's brilliant! I-I need a picture of this. Oh. Oh my god." His knees buckled and he landed on his ass with a plop.

Francis pinched the bridge of his nose (or where the bridge of his nose would be if he were still human) with webbed fingers. "Today is going to be a very long day," he muttered.

By now Alfred had pulled himself together and was sniffling quietly. Linking his hands with Matthew's, he rested his head on his little brother's shoulder. His voice came out a little tired and a little sad. "Matt, I thought nothing was more important than finding the right recipe, but…I put you in danger and heroes don't do that, so I'm going to do what you said and stop."

"Al…" Matthew smiled at the woebegone look on Alfred's face. Then he reached up and twisted Alfred's ear until the latter was kneeling on the ground.

"Ow, ow, ow, what gives?" yelled Alfred as he jumped away and rubbed his very tender ear.

Matthew loomed ominously over Alfred with his arms folded over his chest. "Who is this person talking to me? It sure isn't my brother because he's a hero and he would never give up." Relenting, Matthew gently punched his brother on the shoulder. "And I'll have you know, danger is my middle name."

Alfred's lower lip trembled. "You mean it?"

"Hell yeah. Now let's hit the road!" Matthew grinned.

Alfred whooped and ran inside to grab the car keys. Matthew followed at a more sedate pace; walking with his back straight so Francis wouldn't fall off his head. He wanted to get out of his soggy clothes before he caught pneumonia or something. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gilbert fall into step with him. Hiding a smile behind his hand, he whispered, "'My Mattie'…?"

Prussia coughed. "And you have a problem with that?"

Francis snorted.

"Are you sure this is the way to Canada's house?" asked Germany. His grip on the dashboard was making shallow dents in the plastic. A twitch fluttered over his left eyelid.

"Absolutely, ve~!" Italy wiggled and drummed his fingers on the wheel as he waited for the light to turn green. Italian curses flew from the backseat as Italy hit the gas pedal a little harder than needed, sending everyone flying against their seat. "Canada showed me the way once."

"Really?" asked Spain. Lovino had shoved his face against the window for trying to snuggle, so his voice came out a little funny. "What were you doing with Canada?"

"Ve? Or maybe it was America? All the streets look the same…" Italy paused. "I'm hungry. Can we have pasta yet?"

Lovino shot back, "Wait until after we find America. One of my men told me he was hiding out at Canada's place. We don't want him to get away."

"Really? Whoa, is America going to make us pasta, then~?" Italy replied dreamily.

Resisting the urge to throttle his brother, Lovino watched the scenery pass on by. "No, I told you. We're going to steal the recipe Spain told us about and use it to control the world. That way, no one can call Italians useless anymore!"

"Wah, brother, you're so smart!" Italy turned around and tried to give Lovino a hug. Germany yelled in a panic and frantically grabbed the wheel, trying to prevent them from going off the road.

"Lovi, you're so clever, I'm glad to be your boss!" Spain beamed.

"I'm not your fucking henchman anymore, dammit!"

"Pastaaaa!"

"Lovi, stop kicking me away."

"Stay on your side, Spain-bastard!"

"Ah. There they are," said Germany.

Lovino, Italy, and Spain looked up at Germany in surprise. "There who are?" growled Lovino.

"America and Canada. As well as my _bruder_." He pointed to their left and sure enough there was America, Canada, and Prussia speeding by on the opposite side of the road. Germany concentrated on driving while the other three wordlessly watched their target drive further and further away in the other direction.

Italy turned around and slid down behind the wheel. Germany raised his eyebrow and slowly gave Italy back control of the car. Reaching in his jacket, Italy unfolded a pair of black sunglasses and put them on.

"Italy…?"

"Let's do this thing, ve~." Not bothering to slow down at all, Italy made a sharp u-turn, aiming for the lane going in the opposite direction. The tires screamed as did his passengers. Cars all around honked.

Clutching the door armrest and bracing his other hand on the dashboard to prevent himself from eating it, Germany yelled, "What are you do—Watch out for the median—!"

-To this day, there is a median on an expressway in Canada that bears a crack, courtesy of Italy.

TBC

A/N: Russia needs to be less trigger happy. And thank you to my beta, aoi_aka. You rock, babe. ...And I'm sure you can tell I've been reading a lot of PruCan fics.


End file.
